Last Known Address
Michelle Brooks


There is a heaviness about the light
today, and my head aches for every
drink I pretended not to take, and I am
consumed with these days of endless
repetition. I can’t bring myself
to put everything in the closet
that I took out of it. Today a rainbow
arched over the worst grocery store
in town, reflecting through its window,
the one with the word Alarm painted
on it, adorned with a note that informs
me that this area is under surveillance,
twenty-four hours a day, videos
no one will watch except for clues
as to how something awful happened.